A/N: This is sort of an odd chapter, but it's Marquis/Marchioness fluff, so yay~
Rough ages for this chapter are as follows: Johan at 65, Clara at 46, Lena at 15, Sterling at 9, Maglina at 7, and Seren nearing 3. Astra and Tara are 13, but neither get speaking roles.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Last First Cut
"Mama, Mama, time to work!" Seren giggled, climbing up on the bed. He jumped on the mattress, waking up his parents from their nap. The Marchioness trapped the toddler in her arms and brought him in close for a hug and kiss.
"Oh, there's my big boy," she cooed, rubbing their noses together. Her husband, however, stretched languidly as he stood and frowned.
"Clara, we really need to cut Seren's hair and start putting him in trousers," he said. He gestured at their son, who was a wild mop of brown curls stuffed into a plain green dress. "I know we didn't breech Sterling until he was nearly four, but Seren looks like a girl."
"I'm a boy! Not a girl!" the toddler gasped. He looked up at his mother in horror. "I'm not a Tara!"
"No, thank goodness you're not Tara; she'd never forgive us," she replied. The Marchioness stared at her son, pondering what to do. "Seren, would you like to start wearing trousers every day like Sterling and Papa? You don't have to, but Papa thinks it's about time."
"No more dresses?!" he exclaimed. "Really?!"
"Well, you haven't needed a nappy for a long while, so I say it's about time you start getting used to breeches," the Marquis nodded. "We can set up appointments for the tailor and the hairdresser for tomorrow."
"Tailor, yes; the hairdresser, no," the Marchioness replied, pulling her youngest back towards her chest. "His hair is so soft and if we cut it, it'll be ruined." She stroked the boy's curls, which bounced and sprung up as they were played with.
"Clara, you let me cut Sterling's hair when he was one…"
"…and it hasn't been the same since," she complained. She then switched to the ceremonial tongue, keeping the conversation private. "Go ahead and breech him, but cut his hair before I'm ready and so help me you'll be spending half a year on the front for no reason at all, and you'll do so willingly, just so that you can have some peace."
The Marquis's whiskers twitched as he stood there in defeat. He knew flat-out arguing with his wife at this point would be ruinous, so he had to play things carefully. "You were the one worried about his name—our Seren doesn't need an identity crisis at three… that's what age thirteen is for."
"Then you should have thought of that before you named him in the womb…"
"Mama, Papa, why you use quarrel-words?" Seren wondered. "You talk fast. I wanna know!"
"You will know one day, but for now, you need to go and see if your brother and sister have woken from their nap," the Marchioness said.
"Oh, yeah!" the boy gasped. He then bounded towards the nursery, shouting, "Maggie! Sterling! No more sleepings!"
Soon as Seren was in the nursery, the Marchioness turned her attention back towards her husband. "Let me have this, Johan."
"Clara, it's not like you've been denied much when it comes to the children over the years," he retorted. "This is so unlike you."
"To think I thought I'd have you on my side when it came to this!"
"What side is that? The one where we keep our youngest son as a baby his entire life? I don't like him growing up either, but I thought you got it all out of your system with Maglina."
"We are lucky to have our Seren, which should be enough reason to let me be," she snapped. It was then that Seren and Maglina came in from the nursery, followed close behind by a tired Sterling.
"It's a free day, so can't I sleep for longer?" the older boy asked grumpily.
"No, it's time to go back to work," the Marchioness said. She went and took both Sterling and Maglina by the hand and led them out of the room, leaving the Marquis to pick up Seren and place him on his shoulders.
"Papa," the little boy wondered, "will trousers make me look like a big boy?"
"I bet they will," the Marquis replied.
"Not too big," Seren hoped. "I still littlest, right Papa?"
"You are the youngest no matter what, yes," he said. It made him worry a bit, knowing his son had some attachment to his place in line when it came to his siblings, though with any luck it would not affect how he saw himself in the great picture of things.
Nearly a week later and Seren's new clothes arrived. It was first thing in the morning, when the maids came in to clean while their employers were in their office, and when the Marquis and Marchioness retired for luncheon, changing their youngest into his first set of trousers was top priority after they ate.
"How does it feel, starlet?" the Marquis wondered. Seren was standing in stocking feet on the bed, wiggling around to test his new garments.
"Kinda tight by my wee," the boy decided, attempting to pull at the crotch. "Why trousers come close to my wee?"
"It's merely something to get used to," his father chuckled. "Your pants come close, don't they?"
"Yeah, but…" Seren flopped down on his back and began kicking his legs in the air. "Too tight!"
"Nonsense; they're perfectly fine," the Marchioness said. She sat down on the bed and pulled him close to her, placing him in her lap. "Now all you need is to be big enough for long trousers."
"Still too tight," he pouted. He sat sourly as his mother ran her fingers through his hair, pulling it back to tie into a ribbon. "Mama?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"When I old enough to have hair like Sterling and Papa? My hairs still like Tara, and I'm not a Tara."
"This is the fashion in the capital," the Marchioness cooed, smoothing out his curls. She glared at her husband from underneath her lashes and finished taming their youngest's mane. "I think it looks good on you. Papa? What do you think?"
"Papa is not allowed to have an opinion on this matter," the Marquis replied cautiously. Seren whimpered and slumped, allowing himself to slip down to the floor.
"I not a Tara," he muttered. His father plucked him from the floor and held him, rubbing his back soothingly.
"You see?" the Marquis scowled. "He wants his hair cut."
"…but as long as my children are still children, they are to do as their Mama says," the Marchioness snapped.
"…but they have to listen to Papa as well! Why are we fighting on something as silly as Seren's hair?!"
"…because he's it, Johan!" Tears welled in her eyes as she furrowed her brows, hoping it would help -make her point. "Seren is our last child! Let me do this one thing!"
"Lena is fifteen—we will have grandstarlets soon enough and no one will dare question Grandmamma. Let playing with our daughters' hair suffice for now."
"You don't get it!" She huffed and stormed out of the room, leaving her husband and son to themselves. Seren's lower lip wibbled, dangerously close to a full-on sob, and glanced up at his father.
"Why Mama cross?" he wondered. "Why she cry?"
"Your mama is dealing with something all mamas learn to deal with at one point or another," the Marquis replied. He kissed his son's forehead and game him a comforting smile. "Mama merely isn't used to things not going her way. She'll be fine."
"But Mama is Doctor," Seren stated. "People listen to Doctor! Why no one listen to Doctor?"
"You'll understand one day," his father said. He gently gave him another kiss, this one on the side of the head, and carried him out of the room.
They reported down to the governance hall, where the Marchioness was sitting, waiting with eyes that were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. Seren crawled into his mother's lap and snuggled against her chest. She held him close and twirled the ends of his hair while she listened to grievances alongside her husband and fellow Doctor. The Marquis, however, felt as though he was the only one truly there, that his wife was allowing her judgement to be clouded by sentimentalism that she'd find preposterous had it been anyone else, him included. He would make her see how silly she was being, though how he could was the question.
The days were long as the feud between the Marquis and Marchioness over their youngest's hair dragged on and on. The elder three of their children knew it was a terrible one, as they seemed to refuse to speak to one another unless absolutely necessary. They did not go as far as communicating through the children at the dinner table, yet it did seem as if there were plenty more notes to be delivered throughout the daytime as they had a break from their lessons while their tutor was tending to his baronial duties in Coal-on-the-Hill.
Finally, the day came when the hairdresser was to come and the family was to receive their regular trims. The Marquis and Marchioness were still at-odds when it came to the topic of Seren's hair.
"We are going to let Seren attend, as usual, but he is not going to get his hair cut," she argued from behind her desk in the family's private study. "Maybe next time, but not this."
"He needs to get his hair cut; he's had some time to adjust to the trousers, so the hair shouldn't be a problem at this rate," he replied. He was pacing around the room, attempting to find reason with the Marchioness's logic. "Our boy won't be a boy forever, and this behavior will only be detrimental."
"He will be perfectly fine," she said. "He wants to be like his brother anyhow—Seren will emulate Sterling whether his hair is long or short."
"The boy has repeatedly asked whether or not he gets to have his hair cut today. He wants it cut, so what's the harm in that? It can always grow back if he doesn't like it."
"…but I don't like it short, is the problem."
"…and we're back to this again." The Marquis tried massaging his temples in order to make the pressure in his head subside. "You are so incredibly stubborn about this it's nearly like I'm talking to some pudding-brained enforcer of the King's whose only task is to make my life irritating."
"Then maybe I should invite His Highness for dinner then?" she quipped, standing so that she could meet her husband face-to-face. Despite her shorter stature, she still commanded all the authority he did with his height-related advantage. "Maybe we can insist he bring over his sons to court our daughters and hold a ball that even Tara must attend?"
"Will you please stop being so unreasonable?!"
"Who's being unreasonable, Papa?"
They both stood there and snapped their attention towards the study door, eyes wide at what was before them. There was Lena with Seren on her hip, except the little boy's hair was cut close and short. He beamed happily at them, while his sister immediately caught on to the tension.
"Mama! Papa! I look like Sterling now!" Seren declared happily. He wriggled until Lena put him down and he bounced his way over to their parents. "See? See? I'm a real big boy now! I have hairs like Sterling!"
"Lena Anthea, what happened with your brother's hair…?" the Marchioness asked, attempting to keep her irritation contained. "You knew we were discussing the correct time to cut it."
"…and I thought it was an argument on whether to call the hairdresser early or wait until today…?" the teen grimaced. "He just seemed so excited and…" She saw the anger spread across her mother's face and how pleased her father looked and took a step back. "I should go now, shouldn't I?" Without a verbal reply, she backed into the corridor and scurried off.
"I won," the Marquis beamed in the ceremonial tongue. He picked up Seren and ran a hand through the toddler's hair. "You do look very grown-up, starlet."
"Grown enough for long trousers?" Seren asked in trepidation. "Papa, your trousers seem uncomfy—are they too tight on your wee too?"
"Your mama makes me wear them a little tighter than most; you get used to it."
"Then I never used to it." The boy nodded decidedly—comfort over style was ruled the toddler's mind, and his father was generally alright with that. Seren reached out his arms towards his mother, a frown on his face. "Mama, hold please."
"Alright," the Marchioness said quietly. She took their son and held him in her arms, bouncing him gently as she kept her grip firm. Putting her cheek against his hair, she resisted crying as she felt the freshly shorn ends scratch against her face.
"Mama?"
"Yes, Seren?"
"I big boy now, but I your baby always, right?"
"Yes, starlet," the Marquis replied. He wrapped one arm around his wife's shoulders, with the other one touching the toddler's back. "You are always our baby, no matter how grown you are."
"Good—can we take a nap now? I'm tired."
"That sounds like an excellent idea. How about it, Mama?"
The Marchioness glanced up at her husband and saw the look in his eyes. He was not admonishing, nor mocking, but sympathetic and caring. Kissing her forehead, he let her know how it was he felt.
'My Moon and Evening Star, I will ensure your happiness shall flourish, even if it risks making one of you sad before the end.'
The three then retired, going to the nursery where they laid in the cushions piled in the corner. Seren remained snuggled in his mother's embrace, while his father held the both of them. The Marquis stroked the Marchioness's hair and murmured love ballads in her ear, assuring he thought no less of her for anything that had passed between them, both said and unsaid.
It was always an honor to be her husband and the father of her children, even if she thought he didn't always show that.
A/N: The tradition of "breeching" boys used to be a big thing back before clothing was relatively cheap and inexpensive to make in Europe/European-influenced areas, when the aristocracy and nobility were flourishing. All children, boys or girls, were put in dresses until about the age of four, due to how quickly children of that age grow, as well as general lack of early potty training because plumbing was either awful or nonexistent. While they were in dresses, boys would often have long hair, done in curls, and would be completely indistinguishable from their sisters to a modern individual, but there were still ways to tell them apart, at least in contemporary paintings (which I've never cared to remember, because wiki's always there to help me). The breeching of a young boy, usually around four or five, marked both the start of schooling for the lad as well as his father taking a more active role in raising him. In SASBB, however, we know that's major bullshit since Johan and Clara both are highly involved in the raising of their children and genuinely split duties, so it's more the Marquis and Marchioness following societal clothing norms than anything else. Breeching was also generally bullshit due to the fact boys then [mostly] got shorts instead of long trousers, also because they're still growing and shorts hid the fact that omg the kid sprouted six inches the past year. Getting long trousers was a big thing too, because then you were no longer a boy, but a man, even if you were sixteen and nowhere near the end of your growth spurts.
ALSO: baby hair, like baby skin, is often regarded as super-soft and a pinnacle of luxuriousness. All first haircuts are important, but some are convinced that if they cut their child's hair then it will be different for always and forever. Mainly it's that the child, usually a boy, never keeps their hair that long again, for whatever reason that may be, so there's less hair for their mother to play with. Guys keeping their hair longer isn't a bad thing, neither in the real world or in this fic verse, but considering Seren's position as the youngest of a large brood [by far] and an individual with a cross-gender name, the Marquis merely wants his child to have a firm grounding in one thing first before letting him think about anything else (coughTara'smilitarycareercough).